


The Grifter's Contract

by SapphicReverie



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28664505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphicReverie/pseuds/SapphicReverie
Summary: Former governor, Joan Ferguson, is discharged from Sinclair and Officer Murphy is assigned to supervise her transport.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	The Grifter's Contract

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, dammit, y'all have pulled me in!
> 
> While doing a brief scan of s4 for Screak scenes, I found myself wondering when exactly these two might have forged an alliance in canon. This is where my mind went...

The transfer had been scheduled after nightfall, to minimize press coverage and ensure arrival would occur after the evening count to prevent any accidental exposure. Due to the high profile and unusual circumstances of the case, all involved staff (aside from the Governor) had been selected for the task based on their limited or non-existant history with the inmate. Even still, Brenda knew the entire arrangement was fucked, but a late night transfer assignment and a subsequent rota in isolated protection beat the hell out of night shift block patrol any time. Despite that shift affording her more opportunity for a sly fag break, the monotonous nightly symphony of women fighting, fucking or crying themselves to sleep was enough to drive nearly anyone to the brink of madness.

_ Speak of the Devil _ , she thinks, as the brawler turns off the main road and onto the long drive that leads up to Sinclair Rehabilitation Center. She’d transferred to Wentworth just two weeks after the fire, her request having been fast-tracked as the news broke and staff began to hemorrhage to save their reputation, and the gossip about the former governor had spread like wildfire. Officers and inmates alike all passed tales of the nefarious actions supposedly perpetrated by the demented woman. Brenda had heard them all and taken each with a grain of salt because she knew females in a place of power usually got trash talked as nasty women and as far as she could tell, and the police seemed to indicate, there was no real proof of the governor’s involvement in any of these crimes. Aside from a well-publicized mental breakdown, she didn’t see much evidence to support the rumors. Sure, the woman had probably done a few questionable things in her career, but didn’t most people in a position of power, in order to keep it?

Site security awaits them at the gate and directs them to the back entrance of the building. Once inside, they’re ushered through a series of heavy locked doors and metal detectors to a white hall lined with rooms eerily reminiscent of The Slot. Her gaze wanders briefly to peer through the small square windows as they pass. Most of the rooms are quiet, save for a handful where faint sounds of crying or urgent whispers can be heard, but the entire place is a far cry from the prison, with it’s surreally sterile environment and faint smell of some unknown, but highly chemical disinfectant. They’re led to the door second to last, where a nurse in pale blue scrubs is typing notes into an electronic chart as she sits at a built-in desk overlooking two rooms. She looks up as they approach, offering a smile and standing up to greet them. “You must be the Wentworth transport.”

Brenda steps forward with a small, professional smile “Yea, I’m Officer Murphy and this is Officer Garrett. We have the transport vehicle parked out back and we’re ready whenever you are.” The nurse nods and steps back to the desk to retrieve a clipboard. “Dr. Foster signed off on discharge earlier this evening and Ms. Ferguson has her personal belongings in her possession. I just need a signature on the discharge documents here and you’re all set. We’ll have the security officer escort you out of the building and our clerk already sent her files to your medical staff.” Brenda signs the documents and hands them over, then stands aside as the nurse unlocks and opens the door. “She’s not spoken at all today, so you may not get much out of her,” the nurse offers in a low tone as she steps aside to allow Brenda to enter the room. Brenda meets her gaze as she pauses briefly outside the doorway, mouth puckering slightly as she shakes her head apathetically and shrugs her shoulders. “S’alright, I don’t need her to.”

Stepping into the room, Brenda looks up and is met by the dark, austere stare of Joan Ferguson as she sits in perfect posture on the bed, elegant hands clasped atop her lap. Her brow knits together for a fraction of a second before it relaxes and the faintest hint of a smile quirks the corner of her mouth. From all descriptions Brenda had heard before, she knew that the woman cut a rather imposing figure, but what no one seemed to mention, or perhaps refused to see, was that Joan Ferguson was also strikingly beautiful.

Brenda crosses to the bed and stops in front of the regal looking woman, meeting her stern gaze with her own brand of steel, unphased by the icy look in the woman’s black pool eyes. “Ms. Ferguson,” she nods her head in greeting, “I’m Officer Murphy.” A sly smile moves slowly across Joan’s full mouth as she eyes Brenda from head to toe. “I see Vera sent someone else to do her dirty work,” she hums. Brenda catches the contempt in her tone and briefly wonders what must have transpired between them. “The governor is at Wentworth, waiting for our arrival.” Joan’s eyes widen briefly in a definitive look of sarcasm, “Lucky me,” she replies dryly.

Unhooking the cuffs from her utility belt, Brenda takes a step forward and before she can speak Joan unclasps her hands and lifts her wrists toward her without a word. Brenda cuffs them in silence, making sure not to get them too tight, though she usually doesn’t pay much notice. Once secured, she steps back and again, without prompting, Joan silently rises from the bed, tossing her head back as she shakes a few strands of basalt hair from her porcelain face. Brenda marvels at the woman’s impressive height, and even more impressive legs that seem to go on for miles and are currently on perfect display in the black leggings she is wearing. Grabbing Joan gently by the bicep, she leads her out of the building into the brawler.

Ten minutes into the journey they enter the highway and Brenda stares blankly out the brawler windows at the strobe-like flash of streetlights casting stripes onto the road behind them. Suddenly Joan breaks the silence with a question, “So tell me, Officer Murphy, how long have you been employed at Wentworth?” Surprised by the sudden breach of silence, Brenda turns her head to meet Joan’s questioning gaze. “You know, we really don’t have to talk. I’m fine with quiet,” she replies a bit tersely. Joan smirks and shifts slightly on the bench to better meet Brenda’s eyes. “Oh come on, indulge me,” she goads, “I’ve just spent the last four months in a nut-house and I suspect I’m now bound for a long stint in isolated protection.” A slightly amused look flashes in Brenda’s matcha eyes at Joan’s dry humor and Joan catches it instantly, raising her eyebrows in a gesture of expectation, smirk still firmly in place. Brenda subtly shakes her head and acquiesces. “I started just after the fire.”

“And are you enjoying it?” She’s not quite sure what Joan is doing, but she suspects she’s probing for something, so she keeps her answer vague. “Sure, it’s fine.” Joan nods slowly and eyes her for a long moment before tilting her head slightly as she asks the next question. “And where did you transfer from?”  _ How the fuck did she know that? _ Joan reads the brief surprise in Brenda’s wide eyes and offers a smug smile as she realizes her intuition was correct. “Melaluca...why?” Brenda casts a suspicious side-eye, though she’s growing rather curious about the intriguing woman who seems to show no sign of a recent mental collapse. “That bleeding heart summer camp?! No wonder you were looking for an escape.“ Brenda doesn’t hold back the low chuckle at Joan’s assessment that mirrors her own. “Yea, and the governor was a complete fuckwit.” He’s well known within the industry as a buffoon but, much like Channing, he’s protected by a long line of higher up connections. “Ahhh, Mr. Barnsley...I struggle to even comprehend how he manages to tie his shoes in the morning,” Joan deadpans. Brenda releases an amused huff with a dismissive shake of her head.

“And what is your opinion of Ms. Bennett?”  _ Ahh, there it is _ , Brenda thinks, as the penny finally drops and she realizes what Joan was reaching for. Though she’s got no specific reason to dislike the governor, she’s also not been overly impressed, so she answers with the most diplomatic response she can think of in the moment, “She’s alright.” Joan looks at her in faux shock as her dark eyes convey amused interest. She presses further to test the limits of Brenda’s loyalty. “Only ‘alright’? My, that’s not a very glowing reputation for a governor.” Brenda offers an unamused stare, seeing through Joan’s line of questioning and refusing to take the bait. “Yea, well neither is being accused of murder and burning down a prison,” she replies flatly. 

Joan’s nostril flares slightly as she meets Brenda’s challenging gaze and she feels the instant heat that settles in her belly in response to the bold woman’s rebuttal. She’s not used to people being willing or able to volley right back to her and she’s pleasantly impressed. “Touche, Ms. Murphy,” she finally replies and bows her head in submission, provoking a smirk of approval from the handsome Greek woman. “However, as you said, those are merely accusations...unless, of course, you believe them to be true…..” Joan’s low voice trails, but she looks to Brenda as if she expects an answer. “Me?” Brenda feigns innocence. “Oh, I prefer to have solid proof.” Joan meets her suggestive stare with a crooked smile.

There’s another long pause between them as they size each other up. Brenda’s green eyes eventually narrow and she juts her chin slightly as she looks at Joan with a searching expression. “How did you know I was a transfer?” Joan offers a sly smile before responding, “With that brusque tone, intelligence and touch of arrogance, you seem more like my type…” she pauses for just a millisecond as her eyes dip to Brenda’s chest and float back up again, “...of hire, and not Little Miss Bennett’s.” Her mouth falls slightly open as she watches the faintly flattered expression that crosses Brenda’s handsome face.

Their intense exchange is broken briefly as the brawler pulls up to the back gate of Wentworth and pauses as the heavy gates roll open. Brenda looks back to Joan, face set in a stern expression, “Careful Ferguson, talk like that could get you extra time in isolated protection,” her gaze turns subtly playful as she adds “...under my direct supervision.” Joan looks up and reads the mischievous twinkle in Brenda’s eyes and flashes a coquettish grin, “Oh my! Ms. Murphy...are you flirting with me?” she teases. Brenda smiles slowly, but before she has a chance to answer, the brawler doors swing open and Wentworth beckons.


End file.
